His Wild Duchess (Fate & Circumstance #2)

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

L ife alongside Penelope was more heart pounding than George ever expected it to be. Where he went to seek out a marriage that would better his chances of being acceptedby the Ton, he found something else entirely instead. Not only was Penelope the exact opposite of the kind of woman he expected to find, but she quickly became the answer to all his questions, solving the problems he thought would take more effort than it needed.

George paced around in his study, waiting for the butler, Mr. Moderno, to appear and announce the serving of dinner. A newfound anxiety prickled beneath his skin, something he was not used to experiencing.

As if right on cue, a short knock came from the door. Mr. Moderno stepped inside, dressed in a neat suit and short cropped black hair, with streaks of grey sprouting at the sides. “Good evening, your Grace,” the butler said, bowing his head respectfully. “Dinner will be served upon your arrival. Her Grace will arrive momentarily.”

Before the butler could make a quiet and quick exit, George shot his hand up.

“Mr. Moderno,” he called out, “Won’t you do me a favor?”

“Better yet, your Grace, I might just whatever you ask.”

George gave him a look, an amused smile perking up at the corner of his lip. “Most amusingof you, Mr. Moderno.”

“My apologies, your Grace.”

“I refuse to accept them,” George said. “I quite enjoy a bit of amusement. Keep at it.”

Mr. Moderno frowned. “Of course, your Grace. What else might I do for you?”

Standing beside the window, George pulled back the curtain as the setting sun made the land behind them look as if it were on fire. A deep orange glowcascaded across the grass, lighting up the frame of the stable. He watched as the stablehand moved in and out, doing his nightly chores before locking the stable up for the evening.

His mind drifted, and all he could think about was Penelope and that stallion, how the wild steed acted so kindly to her when the only experience he had with it was ducking out the way when it bucked. How did a lady manage to earn the respect of a mighty beast with only a simple touch?

George shook his head, turning back to the butler. “Could I ask you something?”

The butler nodded. “You may ask me anything, your Grace. I can’t promise answers, but I have an ear that works well enough to listen.”

“Have you always been here in London, as a butler?”

“For the majority of my life, your Grace,” he said. “I have always had work within London. You might not remember,” Mr. Moderno moved further into the room, hands twisted behind his back, “But I tied your shoes every day when you were only a boy.”

George couldn’t help but smile. “Why you? Wouldn’t that be someone else’s job?”

“How could I say no to tying a young boy’s shoes,” Mr. Moderno replied, “When I had no children of my own?” He smiled fondly at him. “You were a good young sir, your Grace, when you were growing up.”

George smirked. “Can’t say the same now, can you?”

“There is nothing wrong with going your own way, your Grace.”

“You truly think that?”

Mr. Moderno nodded, and looked incredibly sincere. “Your Grace, the difference between people like you, and people like I, is that I have the ability to believe in such things. Unfortunately…” His smile turned into a frown. “Gentlemen like you find that it is out of their hands.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” George quickly replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “If I set out to forge my own path, who’s to say any other aristocratic man can’t?”

“You have to admit, you were quite lucky, your Grace.”

George scoffed. “Nothing about my youth was lucky.”

“Really?” Mr. Moderno raised a brow. “Your title was granted to you the moment you were born, your Grace. By the way of the Crown, Yeats would one day be yours, whether you wanted it or not.”

“I’m well aware of the way it works,” George snapped. “You see, in the New World, they -”

“You can enjoy the Americas all you want, your Grace, but it doesn’t change the fact that you have sought success in England.”

George frowned, but was unable to clap back at the butler. He spoke the words he needed to hear.

“Why did you ask if I had been here in London for long?”

“Well,” George replied, “I was curious if there was anything you knew about Pen - excuse me. If there was anything you knew about Her Grace.”

“What about the Duchess?”

George shrugged. “Her family. What was it that happened with her father?”

“Ah,” Mr. Moderno mused, “That was an incident long ago, back when you would’ve still been in the Americas. Lord Egerton, the Marquess, found himself in financial distress when his business ventures failed to produce what he had predicted. The results left him in bad tidings with the partners he struck deals with. They were out of the money promised to them, and the profit they intended to receive alongside it.”

“So the late Lord Egerton was cast out of society?”

“Not cast out,” Mr. Moderno replied. “He was scorned, and put their family in financial ruin, but the Ton very much expected to see his children debut in the Season and try to better their name.”

George nodded. “And their family name was repaired.”

“In time,” he said. “Like all things. But it was, in fact, restored to their normal status after the Duke of Garvey wed the eldest daughter. And, of course, the work of Lord Egerton, the eldest son, has secured their future for generations to come.” He smiled. “Quite the story.”

Turning away from him, George pondered over the words as he glanced back out the window. The sun moved further past the horizon, and the stablehand had already gone. It was quite the tale, one that seemed to lead to his own resolutionas well.

“Might I be bold, your Grace?”

“You may,” George replied.

Mr. Moderno moved further into the room, as though he were afraid of someone listening in. “I am only a butler, but I know how the Ton tends to view ladies like Her Grace.”

George shrugged. “Her Grace comes from a respectable family. You said yourself that the sister wed a Duke. I heard months ago that they have a steadily growing family. What’s not to appreciate about that?”

“It has nothing to do with the Caney family,” Mr. Moderno said. “It is about Her Grace.”

“Well, I won’t lie and say her pack of animals isn’t odd, but -”

“Her Grace does not fit in the status quo of the rest of the Ton,” he inerjected. “If you are seeking partners, aristocriatic men who have their foot in the door already, you must do so on different terms.”

George sighed. “While I appreciate the advice, I sought out Her Grace for her family’s influence in the Ton. You might be incorrect on this one, Mr. Moderno.”

“Have you ever seen another like her?”

“No,” George replied, faster than he would’ve wanted. He cleared his throat, trying to lower the level of eagerness he suddenly had. “I have not. Well,” he paused, an amused smirk spreading on his face, “I told her recently that she reminded me of some women I had the pleasure of meeting in the New World, but none from England.”

“My point exactly.”

“I do not take that as a bad thing, Mr. Moderno.”

“You might not,” he said, extending an arm towards the door. “But the rest of London does.”

George stared at the butler, trying to come up with something else to say, but drawing a blank. With an annoyed huff, he stormed past him, leaving the study and approaching the dining room. After hearing all that, he would now be forced to spend time alone with Penelope. He racked his brain, searching for the possible civil things he could mention before he grew irritated and managed to bring up the horseback situation again.

Outside the dining room, Butternut sat at a small endtable. Her coat looked fresh and clean, fluffed up to perfection. As he drew closer, Butternut slowly blinked her sharp green eyes at him, tail slightly swaying at the very end.

George paused at the door, hesitating as the cat watched him expectantly. He glanced behind his shoulder. “H-How do you do?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

Butternut blinked again, straightening up to lean her head towards him.

With a hesitant hand, George reached, petting the top of her head, between the ears. A loud vibrating sound came from the cat’s throat as her eyes closed, a pleased look on her face. George grinned, giving her a few pats down the back before turning his attention back to the dining room.

Inside, Penelope sat at a chair beside a window, gazing out at the sunset. The mastiff, Antony, sat loyally beside her.

“Good evening,” he said within the relaxed quiet.

Penelope turned, quickly rising to her feet. “Hello,” she said, her voice small. “Are you well?”

“I am,” he stiffly replied. “And you?”

She pressed her lips together, nodding awkwardly while turning away. “Yes, I am well.”

Antony’s large head glanced between them.

“Please,” George said, motioning to the table. “Have a seat, my apologies for keeping you waiting.”

“It’s alright,” she replied while sitting. “The sunset was pleasant to watch.”

George nodded as he took his own seat at the table, quiet as the servants came to serve the food and pour the wine. Penelope kept her head down as they scuffled around, her hands held in her lap. He could stop himself from watching her, his hand resting on his chin. Every time he looked at her, all he could think about was Vaun, and seeing her come trotting up to the stable on top of him.

Once the servants moved away from the table and out the room, Antony clobbered up to them, laying underneath the table, his snores filling the room like background music. Slowly, Penelope ate, her eyes never leaving the plate.

“You have experience with taming horses, don’t you?” George suddenly blurted, unable to hold himself back.

Penelope’s head shot up, obviously as surprised as he was. “I’m sorry?”

“Taming horses,” he repeated. “How many times have you done it before?”

“I can’t recall ever doing such a thing.”

“That’s impossible.”

She raised a brow. “Are you trying to call me a liar?” With a small laugh, Penelope shook her head. “I haven’t tamed any horses, George. I don’t think I’ve even come across a wild horse.”

“But you have,” he said. “Vaun.”

“It’s not like you had a sign on the door calling him a halfway-tamed stallion,” Penelope snapped irritably. “I do not wish to argue this entire evening and try to convince you that I have never, in fact, tamed a horse.”

George frowned. “Neither do I.”

“Then why bring it up again?”

He hesitated, swallowing down a gulp of food before setting his utensil down. “Penelope,” he began, enjoying the way her name felt on his lips, “While most of the things I experienced at that moment came from the utter shock of seeing a young, well-bred woman of London society riding a wild stallion, I was also…quite impressed.”

Penelope froze from across the table. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not!”

“Since when do you not tease me?”

George waved a hand in the air. “Sure, you have a point, but I was being serious. You have a natural talent, something that was not taught, something that you were just born with. It is an incredible gift that I spent years in western America trying to master.”

A blush began to burn brightly against her tanned skin as she glanced away. She cleared her throat. “While we are discussing horses,” she began, quickly changing the subject off of her, “I should let you know that I sent a letter to Mr. William Fitzburgh.”

“Who?”

“My acquaintance at London’s premier track,” she said. “Mr. Fitzburgh worked with Fiona when she was a racehorse. He cared for her very well, unlike some other men at the tracks.” Penelope took a sip from her cup. “He is a very kind man, George, who can help your business endeavors if you’re good to him.”

George leaned back in his seat, just watching her. “How a well-bred lady like you manages to have acquaintances at London’s premier racehorse track is beyond me.” He smirked at her. “You do know that men gamble at those things, right?”

“Don’t patronize me,” she quickly said. “Of course I know that men gamble on horses! You make it sound as if I’ve never been to the tracks myself!”

George’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, now, don’t tell me that such a well-bred lady -”

“There you go again with that ‘well-bred’ nonsense,” Penelope interjecting, letting out a loud laugh. “Who gave you that idea?”

“Why wouldn’t you be a well-bred lady?”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Ask any member of the Ton and they’ll tell you I’m…” her words trailed off, the confidence leaving the more she spoke. She narrowed her eyes, looking back down at her food. “Never mind.”

“Well,” George quickly said, “I want to hear. What’d they tell me?”

“Forget it.”

“My, my, darling. You act like I’m the one who brought it up.”

Penelope shot him a glare. “They would tell you that I am and have always been a spinster at heart, even before I was of age. In recent years, the Ton have been able to say it without having to speak around it. It seems as though I lived up to it for them.”

“Why does that matter? You obviously aren’t a spinster anymore.”

Penelope frowned. “Aren’t I? It’s not like what you and I have is a real marriage.”

“As far as the Ton is concerned, it is.”

“I-It’s not the same,” she mumbled.

George watched her, his curiosity growing. All he wanted was to read her like a book, understand how someone like her could do the things he had seen her do over the past few weeks. She wrangled an untamed horse, regularly leads a pack of once feral animals, and fixed the problem he thought would take him years to rectify. He needed to know more.

“Why do they call you a spinster?”

Penelope met his stare. “It is not something I can easily talk about.”

“If it helps,” he said softly, “I haven’t been in London for years. A decade. The Ton and their standards mean next to nothing to me.”

“Isn’t that why you needed to be married?”

“Yes, but -”

Penelope leaned forward. “I do not wish to list out all the reasons why you made a deal with the wrong woman.”

“Wrong woman?” he repeated. “What makes you say that?”

She sighed. “They call me a spinster because I made it my sole purpose to live my life independently.”

George nodded, and remained quiet, not wanting to force her to close up by saying the wrong thing.

“I watched Alicia become a bride through the mere circumstance of a scandal,” she said. “And that was enough for me. I found better company in my books, in the animals I raised. As Alicia went off to her new home, I watched Owen fight and strugglehis way into a union of his own.”

“Does it sadden you,” George asked, “That you were left behind it all?”

Penelope met his gaze, a smile growing on her face. “Not one bit. And that, George, is why the Ton might like to call me a spinster.”

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it quite proudly again: you would find great company in the New World.”

Penelope shook her head. “That’s the thing. I have already found great company, and that is in my independence.”

George nodded, feeling something twinge at his heart, something that he couldn’t recognize. The image of Penelope within a cottage, surrounded by her animals, appeared in the back of his mind. While their was only happiness on her face, the idea of it brought something sour to his stomach. He shook his head.

“I applaud you,” he said, raising his glass, “And will officially stop calling you a well-bred lady.”

Penelope laughed, lifting her cup. “Hear, hear!”

They both drank and laughed together, continuing on in their meal with a sort of comfortable easespreading between them. George soaked it up for as long as it would last. When he had made his journey back to London, he never quite thought about the possible things he might enjoy when he had returned home. All he could think about was everything he left behind, everything he had worked for within the New World.

Now, that he sat across a table with a peculiarly unique woman who happened to be his wife, George realized that there was one thing he had begun to revel in.

Penelope’s company.